


Tiny Girl in a Giant World

by Slynnski



Series: Ramsay Bolton's Tiny Pet [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Fear, Fear of Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Injury, Macro/Micro, Major Character Injury, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 03:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slynnski/pseuds/Slynnski
Summary: Being discovered by Ramsay Bolton isn't the best thing in the world for someone like you.





	Tiny Girl in a Giant World

You were running through the halls of Winterfell, Arya and Nymeria at your heels, tail wagging and tongue out. Being chased and playfully caught by the youngest Stark daughter was one of your favorite things to do. It was so exhilarating and fun, and even though a gigantic direwolf chased after you, too, you knew you were safe from harm, because Nymeria was trained to be nothing but docile with you.

You adored all of the Starks, and they you, but you were closest with Arya, partially because you lived in her bedroom, and mostly because you were Arya's only friend. Arya was always teased and shunned by her older sister, Sansa, her friends, and the other young girls in Winterfell/the North because of her hard face and boyish behavior. But you didn't care -- she was more fun that way.

Arya was just about to gently snatch you up into her child-sized hand when a sudden waterfall crashed over you. This was strange. There were no waterfalls in Winterfell. The only nearby water source you knew of was the pond out by the godswood. What was going on?

You coughed and spluttered, hastily wiping water from your eyes, feeling the cold wetness drip from your hair down your chin. As things came into focus, you found yourself lying down and staring up at the ceiling. You sat up rapidly, wincing as excruciating pain suddenly flooded your body. What had happened to you?

"Arya, what--?" You began in your mouse's voice. 

You stopped talking when you noticed the huge shadow surrounding you on the wooden table where you sat. Dread filled you as you slowly looked up at the person towering over you. It wasn't Arya.

"You finally came to. I was getting rather bored," Ramsay Bolton teased maliciously. 

You trembled violently and hid your face in your hands, wishing it would all wash away with the water that was now pooled around you. 

"Now, that's no way to respond to a Lord, is it?" He continued to tease, but you sensed the impatience in his voice. Fearing repercussion, you swallowed hard.

"N-no, my Lord," you squeaked.

"Look at me," he commanded sternly.

Against your better judgement, you did as you were told. You were minutely relieved to see that Ramsay was sitting now instead of standing over you.

"What's your name, little one?" Ramsay asked with an amused smile and a twinkle in his eyes. You felt a pang in your chest as the familiarity of that question struck you. But, you were too afraid to allow yourself to reminisce or become distracted.

"Y/N, my Lord," you answered meekly. Ramsay raised his eyebrows in surprise.

 "A beautiful name for a pathetic micro such as yourself," he said nonchalantly. Now it was your turn to be surprised. Your change of expression did not go unnoticed by the bastard. He chuckled.

"You're surprised?" he questioned gleefully. You nodded, your fearful countenance returning. 

"And here I thought that me knowing what you are would bring you some sort of relief. When I was a boy, the septa told me all sorts of tales, one of them being about the micros, or, as she liked to call them, the 'tiny people that lived in the Dreadfort walls.' I had always thought she was full of shit because I had never seen one before. Until now," he grinned slyly.

"I wonder if that means White Walkers also exist?" he mused to himself. In a normal conversation in which you weren't fearing for your life, you would say that _yes, they do_ , but in this dire circumstance, you remained silent. 

"What is it, Reek?" Ramsay asked, his eyes not leaving your face. Puzzled, you turned your head towards the chamber doorway, and there stood none other than Theon Greyjoy. However, he appeared to be a phantom of the man he once was. Your stomach churned as you took in his scarred and ragged appearance.

"M-master?" Reek said stupidly. Ramsay rolled his eyes, finally turning to look at his creature.

"Don't act so shocked, I could smell you from across the castle, you piece of filth. Now, do be so kind as to tell me what it is you want before I flay your remaining fingers," the Bolton bastard said dangerously. Reek trembled, looking down at the floor.

"Lord Bolton requests your presence down in the entrance hall, master. He-he said it was urgent," Reek said, eyes still averted. Ramsay cursed, irritated.

"Fine," he said grudgingly, then got up and left the room without a backward glance, Reek limping in his wake.

You felt your pulse beating in your ears and your heart seemed to be caught in your throat. Now was your chance. Get the hell out of there, and get far, far away from this dangerous, deranged man. 

But you couldn't. Or at least, you dared not try. 

The pain from being nearly crushed to death earlier was almost gone, but when you tried to stand and put weight on your right ankle, you collapsed like a wet dishrag, inhaling sharply from the sudden piercing agony that shot through it. It must be sprained. And even with two good ankles, how in the world would you get down from this table in the first place? You could possibly jump from the edge onto the seat of the chair that Ramsay had been sitting on, and then shimmy down one of the legs. But, even if you managed to accomplish that before the bastard returned, what the hell would happen next? Ramsay knew about you now, which meant that no matter where you went within Winterfell, you were no longer safe.

Tears flowing down your cheeks, you accepted your fate and sat back down, cradling your knees to your chest, trying to distract yourself by thinking about happier times. 

* * *

_Sneaking a few morsels of food from the kitchen, you crept your way back to your hiding spot in the walls of the littlest girl's bed chambers. The soft thumping of paws hitting the floor stopped you in your tracks, and suddenly, a wet nose and lolling tongue were mere centimeters from your face. The food cascaded from your arms and your heart almost stopped beating in fright._

_"Nymeria, no!" a small voice cried out._

_In a flash, the giant direwolf was being pushed away from you by the young dark-haired girl that shared this space with you. The girl turned back around to look at you as you sank to your knees in weak terror._

_"I'm not crazy!" Arya exclaimed excitedly. "Sansa told me I was crazy when I told her I thought I saw a tiny girl running across the floor of my room once," she explained casually to you. You could only stare._

_"What's your name, little one?" she asked kindly. You shook your head, too afraid to speak._

_"Hey, you don't need to be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you, and neither will Nymeria. Right, Nymeria?" Arya called out imperiously to her direwolf. Nymeria whined and thumped her tail._

_Your breathing slowed and your heart rate returned to normal as you realized the little girl was telling you the truth._

_"I-I don't have a name," you said shyly. "At least, I don't know what it is. I've always been alone." Heat filled your cheeks with shame._

_"Well, I'll give you a name, then," Arya said matter-of-factly. And that is how you became known as y/n, and how your friendship with Arya began._

* * *

You were brought back to the present when you heard the chamber door close with a snap. Ramsay had returned. 

"You're still here!" Ramsay exclaimed excitedly. You nodded, looking at him, although every fiber in your body screamed at you to hide your face. Ramsay sat down at the table with you once more.

"And here I thought someone of your stature would have some sort of self-preservation," he chuckled, amused by your fearlessness or stupidity, he couldn't tell which.

"Are-are you going to kill me? Or torture me? Or hurt me?" you asked, your voice cracking. Ramsay's eyes narrowed in apparent confusion.

"And...why would I do that?" he asked. "Your my little toy now, y/n. Play my little games and win, and no harm shall come to you. All's well that ends well," he continued innocently.

"Yes, my Lord," you acquiesced. But the sheer terror in Theon's eyes, and his deadened, hollow face told you everything you needed to know about Ramsay Bolton. There was no such thing as winning his games, and there were no happy endings for his toys.

 

 

 


End file.
